


Magical Heritage

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [19]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Secrets, Gen, Unexpected Heritage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-12 08:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Curious about where their daughters’ magic came from, Shelley and Kevin Wordsworth have their daughter, Claire, take a magical heritage test.  The results may surprise more than just them.





	1. Inheritance Test

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the nineteenth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Explaining Magic".
> 
> Full credit for the inheritance test goes to dunuelos, author of the long standing "Lone Traveler" series on Fanfiction.net. I'll be borrowing both his inheritance test, as seen in "Lone Traveler: The Greatest Minister in History" and the cost (10 Galleons in the aforementioned story and 50 British pounds in a different Lone Traveler story).
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

With everything else going on, Alanna ended up staying the night at the Wordsworths. Shelley warned her girls against any _repeats_ of their stunt from the _last_ time Alanna had slept over, while Alanna retreated to the guest room, trying not to blush too badly at the reminder.

A knock came on the door roughly ten minutes after Alanna had unpacked her bag. “Yes?” she called.

The door creaked open, Shelley peeking around the edge. “Do you have a minute, Alanna?”

“Sure,” Alanna replied, turning to her pseudo-aunt. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and sitting on the edge of the bed, she asked nervously, “Uncle Wordy hasn’t had any more attacks, has he?”

“Not yet,” Shelley reassured the young girl as she entered and closed the door behind her. “But he _is_ insisting on sleeping in the living room tonight…on the floor.”

Alanna bit her lip. “He might be right,” she admitted. “Honestly, this is probably the first time any techie’s been actually _treated_ for exposure to the Cruciatus…so not even the Healers were sure how long it would take for the aftereffects to fade.”

Shelley frowned. “If I recall correctly, those ‘Death Eaters’ went after techies and tech-borns quite a bit, right?”

A bob of the head and Alanna didn’t look up at all. “Yeah, but, well…” Alanna fidgeted a little, studying the floor and playing with a bracelet on her wrist. “For me, it’s history,” Shelley nodded, “But I always got the impression that even though the ‘good guys’ knew that non-magicals were being targeted and cursed and stuff…they didn’t really _do_ anything. Not in the First War, not in the Second. The Second War, some of them had the really, really good excuse that they were trying to keep _themselves_ alive long enough to stop the bad guys…plus, they were kids, about mine and Lance’s age.” Alanna pulled one knee up and hugged herself, still staring at the floor. “But there isn’t any excuse, not really…none of those people _asked_ to be targeted by a madman or a war they didn’t even know about.”

Shelley studied the young girl a moment, then reached out and tipped her ‘niece’s’ head up, meeting violet eyes. “Events and decisions made before you were even _born_ aren’t your burden to bear, Alanna. Yes, it’s disappointing to know that my husband isn’t the first techie to be hit with this curse and he won’t be the last, but _that_ is not your fault.” Shelley’s eyes warmed. “Sometimes, little one, you are far too quick to take the blame for things that aren’t your fault _or_ your choice. Auror Anderson _chose_ to kidnap Claire and that other girl, he _chose_ to use what you yourself called an ‘Unforgivable’; Kevin chose to stay on duty and go after the girls without backup.”

“But…” Alanna protested. “If Lance and I hadn’t told Uncle Wordy about magic…”

Shelley laughed, but not meanly. “It sounds like Kevin and I would have found out about magic regardless, Alanna.” Her smile was bright and wide. “Don’t _ever_ regret that day, little one. I don’t, neither does Kevin…you and your brother have given Greg Parker and Team One far, far more than _just_ magic.” The woman cocked her head to the side. “You never had to hide who you are from us…and believe me, _that_ makes a _big_ difference.”

Silence hung, but, at last, Alanna gave Shelley a tiny smile.

“I did want to ask you something else,” Shelley admitted. When Alanna gave her a curious look, she continued, “What would it take to get that inheritance test for Claire?”

Alanna’s eyes widened. “You want to do that?”

“Yes,” came the simple reply.

The girl frowned, considering for several seconds. “We’d have to go to Gringotts; it costs money, but I can authorize the Calvin vault to pay for it…”

“You don’t have to do that,” Shelley protested.

“If you pay for it with non-magical money, it will be more expensive,” was the flat reply. “I can ask what the conversion rate is while we’re there and then you and Uncle Wordy can pay us back, but, please, let me do this,” Alanna gave the older woman a pleading look, “That way, it’s not quite as bad.”

Shelley was still not pleased, but, studying the girl, she realized Alanna was still feeling guilty over the curse Kevin had been hit with. In the end, she decided it was worth a bit of pride to let the girl ‘apologize’ in her own way. “All right,” she gave in. “Tomorrow?”

Alanna nodded.

“Okay. It’s late, but I couldn’t get dinner together this evening…I was too worried…so dinner is in ten minutes.”

As Shelley turned to leave, a small voice from behind her came again. “Aunt Shelley?” She turned, arching a brow at the redhead. “Thanks.”

* * * * *

Alanna led the way into Gringotts; behind her, the Wordsworth girls were wide-eyed at the sight of their very first _goblins_. The pureblood turned her head, watching as the Wordsworth parents soothed little Ally, who’d lost her adventurous spirit at the sight of the goblin guards outside the bank. A tiny, wistful smile worked its way across Alanna’s face; well over two years and she still missed her parents, every day.

Looking at the guard still keeping the door open, she said, “Sorry about making you wait.”

The guard gave her a startled look, unused to customers paying the guards any mind. Then he gave a little shrug, “Young have their own ways of doing things, milady, and their own sense of timing; it is not a problem.”

Ally was finally persuaded into the bank’s environs by her very patient father, who carried her past the goblin guards with an apologetic look of his own at the guard. The guard watched them with an unreadable look in his eyes.

* * * * *

“You wish an inheritance test for the young witch?” Silnok inquired, his reading glasses on his nose and a thoughtful look in his eyes.

“Yes,” Alanna confirmed, “And I’d like the Calvin vault to pay for the test, if you please, Account Manager Silnok.”

The goblin account manager was no fool; he already had what reports there were to be had concerning Auror Anderson and his actions towards Team One, Auror Simmons, and Constable Wordsworth. He _could_ refuse, on the grounds that Sergeant Parker wasn’t present to authorize the charge, but the ten Galleon cost for the test was much too small for him to make an issue of it. “Very well, Lady Calvin,” he agreed. Turning to the young witch with her parents, he gestured her forwards. She moved up to his desk, eyes wide and nervous. “Please sit directly across from me,” Silnok requested; once she sat, he rose and went to his office door to summon another goblin.

Once the goblin returned with the requested items, Silnok returned to his desk, placing the stone tablet with its stone inkwell on the desk between himself and the young witch. The inkwell had a fresh quill and the tablet’s four corners each had a small, shallow bowl with a shiny, gray stone inside. A bottle of ink was on the tablet’s surface with a large piece of parchment.

Silnok removed the quill from the inkwell and poured the fresh ink inside. Rather than give the girl instructions, he gestured for her to hold out one hand and maneuvered her right forefinger over the inkwell. A quick nip with a small dagger and he allowed three drops of blood to fall into the ink, then one drop of blood on each stone. Before releasing the young witch’s hand, he pressed a bloodstone against the cut to heal it.

As the witch moved back to her parents, Silnok placed the quill back in the inkwell, then incanted in Gobbledegook and made a quick motion over the tablet before tapping it. The quill filled with ink, draining the inkwell, and lifted out of the well to begin writing. The three young witches and their parents watched, impressed by the quill that wrote by itself; it rapidly filled the parchment. When the quill was finished, Silnok gave a brief nod, picked up the quill, and walked over to the fireplace in his office. Without a second glance, he tossed the quill into the fireplace, letting it burn.

He heard Lady Calvin explaining his action to the technological family as he walked back and removed the parchment from the tablet. Naturally, he examined the parchment before offering it to the waiting family. His exclamation, in Gobbledegook, was best translated as, “Oh, Great Aslan, what have you gotten me into _this_ time?”


	2. I'm From Which Family?

The Wordsworths and Alanna watched as the goblin went paler and paler with every passing moment. It took close to a minute for the account manager to recover his composure enough to look up at his human guests. In a futile attempt to appear in control, Silnok placed the parchment back on his desk and folded his fingers under his chin; his eyes, though, gave away his _true_ feelings…they were shocked and angry.

In a cool, almost in control voice, he announced, “I can confirm that the young witch is descended from magical families on _both_ sides.”

The little girls started whispering to each other, looking excited while their parents traded surprised looks. Alanna studied the Calvin Account Manager, her eyes narrow and her mind racing, trying to figure out what had discomposed the goblin so.

The goblin cleared his throat and addressed Shelley, “Mrs. Wordsworth, you are descended from a most honorable family within the British Magical World: the Moodys. Your distant ancestor was a Squib born in the late 1700s; it would require more research to discover when your family moved here to Canada.”

“The Moodys?” Shelley asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

“Pureblood, of course,” Alanna chipped in, “They were best known for making the Auror Department a family business…there are _lots_ of famous Aurors in their history. The last known Moody was Alastor Moody; he was an active Auror during the First War and, even though he’d retired, he fought in the Second War until his death during the Battle of Seven Potters. Even today, he’s a _legend_ all by himself.”

The little girls looked suitably impressed by the exploits of their distant cousin; Alanna made a note to never mention Alastor Moody’s equally well-known nickname in their presence. Shelley was disappointed that she had no living magical family, but was just as impressed as her daughters with her cousin’s reputation.

“Indeed,” Silnok rumbled, a look of amusement on his face. “I believe your cousin would be pleased that, although you are not an Auror yourself, you at least _married_ one.”

Wordy and his daughters snickered, Shelley blushed. But neither of the adults had missed Silnok’s appalled reaction to Claire’s inheritance test; they were braced for the worst. “And my family?” Wordy ventured uncertainly.

The amusement vanished, leaving only Silnok’s growing rage for what the test had revealed. Still, he controlled himself, regarding the family gravely. “Before I get to your family, Auror Wordsworth, I will briefly add that, due to your wife’s lack of sufficient magic, the Moody vault cannot be inherited until your second daughter reaches her majority. I will make arrangements with the Moody Account Manager to see that the vault is properly managed and placed in trust for your daughter.”

The two adults traded considering looks, speaking without words. Shelley, at an encouraging gesture from Wordy, replied, “Thank you, Account Manager Silnok. Please extend our thanks to your colleague for taking care of my family’s vault.”

Silnok bestowed the woman with a small smile, well aware many humans found full goblin grins intimidating. Then he turned serious, “The rest is perhaps best shared without young ones present, Auror Wordsworth.”

The girls immediately protested loudly; they wanted to know who their father was related to, regardless of anything else. Wordy shifted, arching a brow at Alanna; the young pureblood knew Silnok better than him. Alanna considered the account manager for a moment, then dipped her head in confirmation. At Wordy’s verbal agreement, Silnok summoned a young Gringotts employee to care for the children for the rest of the meeting. When the girls were gone – under heavy protest – the goblin sighed deeply, before looking back at the Wordsworths. “There are times, Auror Wordsworth, when I find myself wondering at the _atrocities_ both our peoples are capable of.” Tapping the parchment, the goblin added, “A few questions first, if I may? It will clarify a number of my suspicions.”

Wordy looked at Shelley, his expression rather helpless. She rested a hand on his arm and gave him an encouraging look. “Sure,” Wordy told the goblin, though his frame was now stiff with tension.

Silnok grimaced, before asking, bluntly, “Your mother’s pregnancy, it was a difficult one?”

It took some moments for the large man to absorb the question, the implications staved off by sheer denial. “Um…yeah…” he admitted slowly.

A _scritch_ of a quill over a separate piece of parchment. “And your parents vacationed in England roughly nine months prior to your birth?”

Alanna sucked in a breath, her expression turning utterly horrified and devastated. Wordy, still refusing to realize what the goblin was implying, simply replied, “Yeah, I think so.”

It took another minute before Silnok spoke again. “To the best of your knowledge, were your parents attacked in England, victims of any crime at all?”

“No, nothing I ever heard about,” Wordy informed the goblin. Shelley had her hands over her mouth and her head turned from side to side in automatic refusal.

“Who?” Alanna demanded sharply, horror and devastation replaced by fury.

Silnok considered the girl, his gaze stern. “If you cannot control yourself, milady, I will ask that you join the young Wordsworths,” he rebuked her. He waited for her to swallow down her next few comments, before finally explaining. “Auror Wordsworth, according to your daughter’s inheritance test, you are not, in fact, a Wordsworth. You are, instead, the third son of the late Lord Lestrange.”

Denial shone in the man’s eyes; he was already shaking his head. “My Mom wouldn’t have cheated on my Dad…” But realization was dawning; Wordy almost choked at the only other possible conclusion.

Silnok’s voice was gentle. “You have learned enough about magic, Auror Wordsworth, to see the chain of events. Lord Lestrange, like your half-brothers, was a devoted follower of the self-styled Dark Lord Voldemort; he had no respect at all for those of non-magical origin. In all likelihood, your mother was _Obliviated_ after she was attacked; your father may have suffered the same, but there is no way to know so long after the fact. Additionally, Lord Lestrange left his victims one final gift…the struggles your mother had during her pregnancy effectively eliminated your magical birthright. It is not an unknown phenomenon: trauma during pregnancy can and does stunt the development of a child’s magical core. Such was no doubt Lord Lestrange’s intention, though proving that _now_ is impossible.”

Shelley pulled her husband into her arms as he took in the truth; Alanna abandoned her chair to bracket her adopted uncle’s other side, hugging him as hard as she could. At first, Wordy struggled to keep himself together, to suppress the sobs building up in his chest, but it didn’t take long for the dam to burst.

* * * * *

Silnok quite deliberately departed while the male Wordsworth recovered himself. The goblin was shaking in fury; despite his rebuke to Alanna, he was just as hungry for vengeance as she was. Normally, goblins were not as sympathetic nor as patient as he was being with the humans in his office; time was gold and goblins were _very_ careful with gold. But the abuse of power, the abuse of innocents was just as much against goblin law as it was human law and, unlike human law, goblin law had no statute of limitations. Therefore, Silnok was about to attempt something rather…unconventional…to achieve two objectives: revenge and justice.

* * * * *

Blackroot scowled ferociously when the Calvin Account Manager was done explaining. His Clan had _so_ looked forward to the end of the Lestranges. To discover that there was another blood Lestrange was not a pleasant thing, particularly given the goblin’s intimate knowledge of the current Lestranges. “So…their family is not all but dead after all,” he grumbled. “Have you any _other_ unpleasant news for me?”

Silnok gave his fellow goblin a leer. “You assume this Lestrange will be like his half-brothers?”

A sputter. “You _know_ what their family is known for, what their reputation is. Why should _this_ Lestrange be any different?”

A challenging look. “Come and meet with him,” _if you dare,_ was the only response.

* * * * *

Silnok nodded to himself as he led Blackroot into the room; Auror Wordsworth had recovered himself enough to sit straight again, with a deadly look in his eyes that any goblin would be proud of. “Auror Wordsworth,” he greeted solemnly, before turning and indicating Blackroot, “This is Blackroot, account manager for the House of Lestrange.”

Blackroot studied the clearly technological Wordsworth, a slight sneer curling his lip. But the goblin was wise enough to drop the sneer as he gave the Lestrange Heir the briefest of bows. “A pleasure to meet you, Heir Lestrange.”

“Wordsworth,” came the sharp correction. “That man might have been my father by blood, but he was _never_ my Dad.”

Blackroot reared back, caught off-guard by the fury that etched every word of the Auror’s declaration, the naked grief that ran across the man’s face. Raw and pained, Wordy’s voice was hoarser than he would have liked, but he got his message across. “I beg pardon,” Blackroot replied smoothly, “I take it you were raised in the Muggle world?”

A grimace and a shrug. “Yeah, I guess I’m what you guys call a Squib; never knew about my heritage until today, when my daughter took an inheritance test.”

Curious now, Blackroot looked over a Silnok; surely the other goblin knew a Squib was not eligible to inherit? Silnok, reading the question, replied, “Though Auror Wordsworth was unaware of his heritage, he _has_ known about magic for some time and is also a member of Toronto’s Auror Strategic Response Unit.”

To emphasize the point, the young girl added, “The Ancient and Noble House of Calvin stands with House Wordsworth’s claim on the House of Lestrange.” She gave Blackroot a challenging stare, not backing down as the goblin glared back at her.

Blackroot considered the girl and an equally fierce Silnok. Even so. “The House of Lestrange must be inherited by a full magical,” he pointed out, honestly regretful. “As your daughter,” he inclined his head to the man, “is acknowledged by magic to be a Lestrange, I can make arrangements for the House to fall to her on her majority, but until then…” Blackroot spread his hands, making it clear he had no further say in the matter.

Silnok, who had already calculated Blackroot’s initial response, leaned forward in his seat. “However, the _actions_ of the late Lord Lestrange may be called into question,” the goblin declared. “In addition to forcing an unwilling woman, he _also_ denied his youngest son his magical inheritance.”

Blackroot swung back ‘round, one brow rising. “Such is war,” he pointed out.

He was aware of Wordsworth’s growl, the female soothing her husband, but then the girl spoke up. “What about the Black Arts?” she inquired mock-sweetly, tilting her head to the side.

Both goblins snapped to attention, swiveling towards the girl. “What is this?” Blackroot demanded.

One brow arched. “Well, Bellatrix Lestrange née Black had a Horcrux hidden in her vault. Goblin treaties forbid wizards from keeping Black Arts in the vaults, so would that be enough to let Auror Wordsworth take over the family?”

It was _more_ than enough, but Blackroot was still reeling at the revelation. Thus, he was grateful for his fellow goblin’s barked, “One of those _abominations_ was in a _Gringotts_ vault?!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I looked up Michael Cram, the actor who played Kevin 'Wordy' Wordsworth in Flashpoint, and found out he was born in 1968. Also, I looked up the First Wizarding War on the Harry Potter Wiki and found out that, although it 'officially' began in 1970, its roots stretch back to the 1940s, which makes my little theory possible. All I can add is that, considering just how nasty the Death Eaters were/are, plus how often the innocent are targeted in war, well, I rather think a scenario like this is more than just possible, it's probable.
> 
> Apologies and credit to Sherza for the new goblin. I'm lousy at inventing names and such, so I just borrowed a goblin OC Sherza created for his "Families and Familiars: Second Year" story over on Fanfiction.net.


	3. Okay, What's a Horcrux?

Alanna met the twin goblin glares head-on, unconcerned that she was about to spill some of the Second War’s most closely guarded secrets. “Yes, there was a Horcrux,” she confirmed simply, before continuing, “It’s not there anymore…that’s what Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger stole from Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault in the Second War…oh, and the dragon, of course.” A tilt of the head to the side. “The copies might still be in there…the Horcrux was protected by _Flagrante_ **(1)** and _Gemino_ **(2)** curses; at least that’s what our father told us.” Alanna lifted one shoulder in a shrug, silently asking, _Any questions?_

“Yeah,” Wordy cut in, “What’s a Horcrux?” Unspoken was the follow-up, _and why is it so bad?_

Alanna swung towards her adopted aunt and uncle, looking nervous, but unable to duck what she herself had brought up. “A Horcrux is very, _very_ Dark Magic. Essentially, a wizard – or witch – splits their _soul_ and places the split portion in a physical object; that’s the Horcrux. After that, they can’t be permanently killed until the Horcrux is destroyed.”

Silnok, growling, elaborated, “Such an _abomination_ goes beyond what wizards term the Dark Arts; it is a Black Art and constitutes one of the few instances when Gringotts _itself_ can act against a wizarding Clan.” His expression contorted in his rage, “To create a foul device like _that_ means that you are a coward who fears death; so cowardly that you are willing to cheat death. Those who create such _things_ are thus triply loathed by my kind as cowards, cheats, and users of Black Magic.”

Swallowing, Wordy asked, “How do you create one of these…Horcruxes?”

The answer was small, soft, almost plaintive, “Murder…cold-blooded murder with absolutely _no_ remorse.”

Both adults swung towards Alanna, shocked and appalled. “That’s…” Wordy started, only to stop as he realized what he’d been about to say. _That’s worse than what happened to Sarge._

Adding to the horror, Alanna added, all in a rush, “The Horcrux in Gringotts was one of _seven_ Horcruxes that Voldemort created.”

“ _Seven!?_ ” Silnok howled, preempting Wordy’s own response. “That _creature_ made _seven_ Horcruxes?” Where before he had been enraged, now the goblin looked utterly sick.

“What was it?” Blackroot, who’d finally recovered his own footing, demanded sharply.

“The Cup of Helga Hufflepuff…Dad said Harry told him that Voldemort stole it from Hepzibah Smith, one of the last descendants of Hufflepuff. Voldemort also murdered her and left her house-elf to take the blame.”

Silence hung, broken only by the growls of both goblins. Silnok, older and more experienced, calmed himself first. “And the others?” he inquired in a still deadly tone.

“Gone,” came the brisk confirmation. “Otherwise the Second War would rage to this very day, Account Manager Silnok.”

With a feral snarl, Blackroot demanded, “Why was Gringotts never informed?”

Alanna shrank back a little, finally uncertain. Hesitantly, she replied, “I-I think my dad never said anything because it was all second-hand information…he might have thought Lord Potter _had_ told Gringotts.” A deep breath. “I cannot presume to speak for Lord Potter, but my father did tell us two other things.” Silnok nodded encouragingly, giving his fellow goblin a ‘shut up’ look. “First, that Voldemort had _any_ Horcruxes, never mind so many, was and is a closely guarded secret…for fear that _other_ Dark Wizards might follow in his footsteps. Second, there was a goblin who helped the Trio break into Gringotts to get the Horcrux, but he betrayed them and stole the Sword of Gryffindor. After that, they had to use basilisk venom from the Chamber of Secrets to destroy the Horcrux.”

The two goblins exchanged looks that boded ill for the goblin in question. “Who was the traitor?” Blackroot hissed.

“His name was Griphook.” Alanna’s eyes flashed as she spoke. “When the house-elf Dobby rescued the Trio from Malfoy Manor, Griphook and several other prisoners were also rescued. The Trio asked for his help and even agreed to give him the Sword of Gryffindor once all the Horcruxes were destroyed. But he couldn’t wait, couldn’t trust that they would keep their word.”

Blackroot’s expression was black enough that Wordy almost moved between the angry goblin and the young witch. Only Alanna’s unyielding return look kept the big man in his seat; somehow, he knew if he moved between them, Alanna would lose face. Witch and goblin squared off, each refusing to back down for several long seconds. But, at last, Blackroot inclined his head to the witch, accepting her words.

Satisfaction shone from violet eyes, but Alanna was not content to let things rest. “So, is that enough?” she inquired, cocking her head to the side.

Blackroot growled, but answered. “We shall inspect the late Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault to verify your claims, young one. If you are correct, then the surviving Lestranges will be stripped of their vaults, in accordance with the treaties between our kind and yours.” He shifted his gaze to Wordy. “As Silnok can vouch that you were unaware of your heritage until today, Gringotts will not hold you responsible for the actions of your kin.”

Silnok, giving his own growl, spoke up, “There is another solution, Blackroot.”

Blackroot turned, surprised. “You are advocating mercy?” he questioned with a sneer.

A harsh laugh. “Indeed not!” the Calvin manager retorted. “No, I advocate a vengeance far greater than _merely_ stripping the already imprisoned Lestranges of their vaults. The vaults are frozen; the Lestranges themselves denied any of the riches stored within. Taking their vaults is _meaningless_.”

Silnok smirked, a vicious gleam in his eye. “Instead, I propose giving their vaults to a family they would _despise_ and adding the requirement that the name ‘Lestrange’ be _stripped_ henceforth from the account. Auror Wordsworth does not possess enough magic to disown the Lestranges who sit in Azkaban, but the name would, in time, die a permanent death as a reminder to _all_ of why you do not cross the Goblin Nation.”

Blackroot’s expression turned considering. “And how would the name of Lestrange be removed? As you just pointed out, Wordsworth does not possess the magic required for such a thing.”

Silnok’s teeth bared in triumph. “By himself, no, he does not,” the goblin admitted. “But young Lady Calvin considers him _family_ , as does her magic.” Alanna’s breath caught. “Of old, Wild Mages had the ability to ‘share’ their magic; if such can be accomplished here today…”

Wordy’s eyes widened in surprise and he looked at the young witch, uncomfortable with putting her even _more_ on the spot than she had been already. But Alanna’s toothy grin mirrored her account manager’s. “I’m willing to try,” she volunteered. Then she gave Silnok a fierce look. “As long as you can say that, to the best of your knowledge, it won’t hurt Auror Wordsworth.”

Both goblins blinked at her, surprised at her priorities. At length, Silnok bowed his head. “I have read the accounts, Lady Calvin, but I cannot guarantee that they are complete. No _permanent_ harm should be possible.”

Two sets of goblin eyes, one set of teenage eyes, and one final set belonging to an extremely concerned Shelley focused on Wordy, waiting for his decision. Truthfully, Wordy was having more second thoughts now than he’d had months earlier right after Sarge’s collapse, rescue, and recovery, but two thoughts, two truths stuck in his head. One, Alanna would _never_ hurt him if she could help it and two, if he turned his back on magic, he’d have to turn on Sarge’s kids _and_ his own kids…and that wasn’t happening; not now, not _ever_.

So the Auror/Constable straightened his back as much as he could, plastered a fierce determination on his face, and, with a tilt of his head, decided, “Let’s do this.”

 

[1] From the Latin for ‘I burn’. This curse causes an object to burn when touched

[2] From the Latin for ‘to double’. This curse causes an object to multiply, creating exact, but worthless copies of the original object


	4. New Family Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated with myself for days about the direction my muse took this story in. I had a whole fun, funny (I thought) story planned and then I started plotting this chapter and ran into more complications than a porcupine has quills.
> 
> So, I took some time to figure out a solution and I actually had a solution…then my muse started cackling and, before I knew it, the story had veered way off funny and gone straight for angst. So, if anyone is aghast and horrified at Wordy's new back-story, well, me too to be honest. I prefer the happy endings, the guy getting the girl and all that stuff, but sometimes, there isn't that happy ending.
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy the fate I dreamed up for the Lestrange family (as a whole; Wordy's 'half-brothers' will have to wait for another story…or you could just dream up their reaction to the news)…vengeance may be the Lord's, but sometimes…it really is better to ask forgiveness than permission.

Wordy swallowed, looking around at the pentagram the goblins had etched around him; this was looking more and more like the kind of magic that gave him the willies: sacrifices, rites, the whole nine yards. But he wasn’t going to back out now, so he buried his wary concern and shifted his focus to Alanna, standing to his left and little behind. “Is this going to work?” he asked as quietly as he could.

Violet eyes met his. “I don’t know,” Alanna admitted, just as quiet. “The spell should work… _if_ I can give you enough magic to use it.” She bit her lip a moment. “Magic can be really impersonal…right now, as far as _it’s_ concerned, you’re a Lestrange, even though, for _you_ , you’ve been a Wordsworth your entire life.”

“Blood is blood,” Wordy breathed.

An unhappy nod. “So, I actually have to give you enough magic for _two_ spells,” his brows rose at that, “One so you can take the Headship of the House of Lestrange and one so you can change _your_ family name…once you do, as the Head, the House name changes too.”

A slight scowl from Wordy. “And my…half-brothers?”

Alanna smirked, a vicious little half-grin. “The goblins are right; even with me lending you magic, you won’t have enough to disinherit them…but I thought of a different solution.”

One brow went up. “Which is?”

“Well, I _did_ think of Judgment, but that, well, it basically pulls ‘an eye for an eye’ routine and I didn’t think you’d like that.” Wordy nodded agreement. “ _But_ , once this is over, I’ll explain my idea…and if you go for it, we can arrange for them to find out about _all_ of this.” Another, even more vicious grin. “Sometimes, living is the best revenge.”

* * * * *

The first part was both the easiest and hardest part: Alanna lending him magic; Wordy braced himself, expecting pain akin to being hit with the Cruciatus Curse. Nerve endings, still tingling from that curse, sparked at him, making him all-too-aware that he was still affected by the prior night’s events.

But the first touch of Alanna’s magic was more like a curious kitten, twining around his legs and sniffing at him. The magic rumbled, flitting around him a moment longer as its mistress tried to convey her request to it. Wordy’s stiffness prompted another sparking from still tender nerves; Alanna’s magic picked up on his distress and swirled, soothing his nerves with an affectionate pulse. Tentative, like Alanna, the kittenish magic padded in, rubbing against him in silent request for attention. Awkward, Wordy tried to envision holding out a hand for the ‘kitten’ to sniff at, scratching behind the ‘kitten’s’ ears.

Taking his imagined scene as invitation, the magic swirled higher, latching onto him with a happy _thrum_ ; it was more than happy to oblige its mistress and her adopted uncle. At first, it focused on the hurts the Auror had taken, healing the damage caused by the Cruciatus Curse with an indignant rumble. The magic clucked at little as it sensed how he intended to use the temporary loan of power, but Alanna’s agreement with his cause made it take a second look at _why_ he wanted to use it. After a few moments, fraught with tension, the magic settled, satisfied that the cause was just, the intentions good. Though Wordy couldn’t see it, the goblins knew Alanna had managed to successfully lend him her power; Wordy’s eyes glowed violet.

Blackroot cleared his throat and Alanna stepped away, giving Wordy room for the second part. “Now, if you please, Auror Wordsworth…the first spell.”

Wordy’s eyes dropped to the parchment in his hands and he gulped internally. Later, he swore Alanna’s magic helped him say the words right; _he_ had no education in Latin or how to speak it. “ _Peto Capitis Lestrange Domus_ , **(3)**” produced an odd pulse from somewhere in his chest.

For a moment, just a moment, he _knew_ where every Lestrange by blood was and, dimly, how they were doing, how they were feeling. And, from the direction of Britain, he sensed a surge of outrage; they must have felt, somehow, that someone they didn’t know had just taken the family reins. Wordy was grateful when the sense faded…he _really_ didn’t care what his criminal half-brothers thought of him or his family.

This time, it wasn’t Blackroot that prompted him to start the next spell; it was Alanna’s magic, gently nudging at him as if to say, _‘It’s now or never._ ’ Wordy drew a breath, let it out, then threw the words out as if they were the only thing he could do to his long-dead, pathetic excuse for a sire. “ _Wordsworth Ex Lestrange Nomine Loquar Commuto Faciem Meam_ **(4)**.”

For a moment, it didn’t work…the magic rose, then stuttered, almost spent. _No,_ Wordy thought at the magic, _I’m a_ Wordsworth _, not a Lestrange._ He thrust every bit of his stubborn will at the faltering power, praying it would work. And his magical core, damaged, small, and in no shape to be used, responded; his blue mixed with Alanna’s violet and the spell roared back to life, finishing its task in a surge of blue-violet light.

Wordy struggled to keep his feet in the face of the sudden exhaustion and the equally sudden near migraine; Alanna appearing at his side was a welcome sight as the lithe young teen braced him enough to walk. “Did it work?” he managed to ask.

Violet sparkled up at him. “Yeah, it did…and you somehow managed to add your _own_ magic to that last one.”

“Huh,” was the only response he was capable of. “So, am I a wizard now?”

Regret shone now. “No,” was almost too soft to hear. “Otherwise the goblins would have just unbound your core or something like that.”

* * * * *

Blackroot hated to admit it, but his fellow goblin had been right: _this_ Lestrange, or rather, _Wordsworth_ , was _nothing_ like his half-brothers. Already, the new family Head had given Gringotts _carte blanche_ to go through the family vaults and remove anything, _anything_ questionable by goblin definition. Wordsworth had also requested that Gringotts remove any curses that the former House of Lestrange had left on the vault contents as well as any family property. Additionally, after a quiet whisper from young Lady Calvin, the new Lord offered to let Gringotts reclaim any goblin silver with the sole caveat that anything above and beyond what the cursebreaking cost be credited to House Wordsworth for future services. Alanna requested a written record of what was reclaimed, a request Wordsworth seconded, but that was no great hardship.

“Is there anything else, Lord Wordsworth?” the now very obliging Blackroot inquired.

There was a moment as Wordsworth traded looks with his wife, asking a silent question. She considered it, then smiled at him. “Um, actually, I can think of a few things,” he admitted to his account manager. “First, can the account statements be sent to us by technological mail?”

Blackroot blinked, confused, then recalled Silnok’s last words of advice. “You do not wish statements to be sent by owl?” he questioned, seeking clarification.

A shake of the head. “I know that’s how you usually do things, but we live in a tech neighborhood…plus, I’m sure I just made plenty of enemies today and they could, conceivably, just follow the owls.”

“Ahhhh,” Blackroot rumbled, pleased with the man’s caution. “Wise indeed…I shall make the arrangements. And your other concerns?”

The nod was more definite; Wordsworth was finding his feet again. “Yeah…second thing: can you reimburse House Calvin for the inheritance test today?”

“Done.”

A smile at his ready acceptance. “Third…can you set what it would cost to educate our girls and, um, maybe another ten percent or so of the liquid assets aside?”

Curious, most curious. “I can do so…if you wish, you can pay for your daughters’ schooling in one lump sum; that would be cheaper than paying year by year.”

Surprise flared across Wordsworth’s face and he looked to Alanna for confirmation. _She_ looked embarrassed. “Yeah, you can do that, Uncle Wordy. Mom and Dad did that for me and Lance when we were about to go to Hogwarts; because of the…circumstances…it transferred here with us.”

Wordsworth only needed a second to mull that over. “Okay, let’s do that.” Blackroot nodded agreement. “I think, for now, we’ll leave the House vaults separate from mine and Shelley’s bank accounts; just leave the vault gold for a rainy day.” Then Wordsworth’s expression turned rather…cunning. “The liquid assets that _aren’t_ being held aside…can you invest them?”

Now Blackroot was surprised. “You wish it to be invested?”

The goblin was destined to be the recipient of yet more surprises, for Wordsworth explained, “I work with a police/Auror unit that’s active on both sides of the fence: magic and tech. Trouble is, we’re used to using technology and magic tends to make it…break. Last night, I got cornered by an Auror gone bad and he managed to trash my EMP-proof radio. But my phone, which Gringotts made, didn’t get so much as a scratch.”

Blackroot nodded slowly, understanding, but not yet sure where the Lord was going with his tale.

“Now, if the quick history Alanna hissed in my ear is right,” Wordsworth gave the girl a grin, “Goblins think anything made by a goblin craftsman is really _their_ property, regardless of who buys it from that craftsman.”

“Indeed,” Blackroot agreed.

“Is that true of the phones Gringotts made for my team?”

Blackroot was stymied, unsure of the answer, but Lady Calvin was not. “No,” she replied. “We made sure of that when we had everything made. Officially, the phones and the cameras belong to the magical SRU; the computers and Babycakes belong to the tech SRU. Plus, the technology mixed with magic is being made by a company that my brother got Silnok to put together. Everything is being run through that company to avoid any issues with goblin craftsmen and so on.”

As Blackroot looked on, Wordsworth grinned at Lady Calvin. “We’re gonna have to come up with a better name than ‘technology mixed with magic’.” Then he turned towards Blackroot. “For the most part, you can invest in any company you want to…as long as they aren’t skating the edge of being Dark. But I _would_ like you to make a significant investment in the company Alanna just mentioned.”

Blackroot was thoughtful. “The latter is easily done, Lord Wordsworth. But what is your definition of ‘Dark’?”

“Any company that makes or sells products that hurt people as their _primary_ business. Any business into self-defense products gets a pass…they’re helping people protect themselves. If it’s a prank shop and some of their stuff _could_ be used to hurt people, they get a pass too, ‘cause they can’t control what their customers do with their products.”

Blackroot smiled, understanding the distinction his client was making. “I believe I understand you, Lord Wordsworth. I propose that, for the first year, I send you updates on which companies I invest in on your behalf, along with a summary of that company’s business. If I mistake your intentions, you can then inform me and we can move forward from there.”

Wordsworth traded looks with his wife again, then stood up and extended a hand to Blackroot. “Sounds good, Account Manager Blackroot. Let’s do that and we can re-evaluate in six months…just see how things are going.”

Blackroot stood and shook his newest client’s hand with a fierce, wide grin. “I look forward to it, Lord Wordsworth.”

A sheepish look appeared in Wordsworth’s eyes. “Just one more thing.” At Blackroot’s inquiring look, he added, “Call me Wordy.”

 

_~ Finis…enim nunc_

 

[3] Latin for ‘I claim the headship of the house of Lestrange’

[4] Latin for ‘I change my family name from Lestrange to Wordsworth’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end...for now. I'm cautiously pleased that I've (thus far) not gotten any shrieking, horrified comments about Wordy's new back-story. I take it that means people are, at the very least, willing to go with my latest twist and suspend judgement.
> 
> While things with Wordy are hardly finished, we are moving onto the next adventure, "Be Strong and Very Courageous", which starts December 22nd, 2017.


End file.
